


Advent Calendar 5

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Gore, Maiming, Murder, Other, Violence, blinding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: Advent Calendar 5GoreA work for someone on Furaffinity





	Advent Calendar 5

The fight had evolved into a struggle over something small, with both of them pulling on more and more desperate, with each fighting with increased, terrifying desperation the longer they skirmished. Though Artem was a dragon of fair size, rivaling large horses the odd werewolf creature that had started this fight had the upper hand in pure, muscular strength alone. He had pure power rippling through his form, and more than once, he’d managed to nearly throw Artem entirely, finally getting him pinned to the ground under his sheer mass and weight. Claws lashed forward, and to his horror, Artem realized that the werewolf was going for his eyes—whether for the advantage of robbing him of his sight, or crippling him out of spite.   
  
The dragon gave a roar of protest, hastily jerking his head to the side as he did his best to dislodge the werewolf—the furry beasts thighs were locked at the back of his hips though, his knee driving him down firmly in the small of Artem’s back, right above his tail. He could feel the aching pressure against every segment of his spinal cord, making him gasp in pain as it pressed the air from his lungs while the werewolf’s claws lunged for his face.   
  
Grasping at one side of his head, Artem could feel those claws digging tightly towards his eye socket, and he managed to toss his head just in time to dislodge the grasp there before it could dip any closer to the vulnerable spots that served as one of his fewest weaknesses. The head tosses worked a few times, with each one precariously making his horns jerk back against the werewolf’s arms, scraping and goring up the werewolf’s arms each time he jerked.  
  
At one point, he managed to lash his head back, nudging against the werewolf’s shoulder with his horns, which let him get the leverage to lash his head to the side where one of the werewolf’s arms was still extended forward. He bore his fangs, letting the pearly whites flash in aggression before Artem sank them against the fur and muscles. The werewolf gave a howl of rage at feeling the fangs pierce his arm, and Artem did his best to try and lock his jaw, knowing that if he could hold on tightly then the werewolf might be forced to dislodge from pinning him just to free his arm.   
  
Artem didn’t expect the werewolf’s other hand to wrap around his head, all four of his main fingers curling into the opposite eye socket from the arm that was being bitten into. The multitude of claws shredded the soft skin of his lid immediately, leaving it defenseless against the further assault. Once the lid was sliced clean into, the claws had free reign to the soft, squishy eyeball underneath. The sharp claws punctured the vulnerable eye, leaving the terrifying feeling of the orb deflating in the socket vibrating through his skull, which left the eye socket feeling empty. Even worse, he felt the rusk of warm, gooey liquid that he realized was likely the contents of his eyeball seeping down rapidly between the fingers and claws dug into his eye socket, and the snarling howl of anguish that slipped free from him allowed the werewolf to wrest his other arm free of the dragon’s jaw.   
  
Artem’s head jerked, freeing himself from the worst of the dragon’s grip against it, but he could already feel the empty space in his eye socket where the eye had deflated—and in the flail of his head, he could hear a nasty ripping sound coming from _within_ his head, followed by a snap, further pain blossoming from behind where his eye had been. When his head flailed back, he realized with another sense of horror that he’d seen the little shreds of flesh connected to the werewolf’s claws still, and he suddenly understand what the ‘snap’ inside of his skull had been—the connective tissue between what held his eye in place. The werewolf had pulled the sunken, deflated remains of his eyeball from his head. Even if there had been no way of feasibly having it healed, there was something morally terrifying of knowing the eye had simply been torn from the socket, and that there was more than just blood pouring down his face and maw.   
  
Artem gave a blind roar of rage as he kicked and flailed, managing to turn enough again to lash out, gnashing his teeth at the werewolf in far more than just self defense now, blind anger rising through him as his fangs caught and dragged against tufts of fur and flesh, drawing blood where he could until he felt the werewolf’s arms rise up to clasp around him again. One palm pressed firmly at the base of his skull, forcing his head downwards until Artem’s jaw connected hard with the dirt under them; the momentum alone was enough to prevent him from opening his mouth again, caught at too awkward of an angle to get his head turned enough to bite out at his opponent. He had done a hefty amount of damage—the scent of blood in the air from their fight was not his own, and he could feel wet, hot splatters leaking down his scales from behind him where the werewolf was still actively holding him down. His head could no longer flail backwards, keeping the werewolf safe from both his fangs and the sharp horns that had served to cause some of the damage as well, making the muscles of his neck scream out in failure to shift and bend as he wanted.   
  
The werewolf would not be satisfied with only one eye, it seemed; he wanted the dragon to never be able to rise up against him again, it seemed—and the best way he knew to do that would be to permanently disable him. With the palm of his hand still pressed firmly into the ridge of his skull, his other hand circled his head again, still dripping blood; the only difference was, this time, he was able to freely enjoy the pain that he was about to inflict. Instead of just digging his fingers in this time, the werewolf dipped his claws under the eyelid, ignoring the huffing rumbles and growls of pain from under him as he ripped the eyelid away, leaving the eye bulging and exposed in the socket under it. Instead of scratching across it and crushing it within the eye socket this time, though, he dug his fingers inwards in a circle around the eyeball, until he was sure that the dragon could only ‘see’ the palm of his hand with what still worked of his eye, given if he could even truly see anything still with the blood flooding around the eyeball from the ripped away eyelid, which had been carelessly tossed a few feet away once the skin had been severed. Suddenly, with no warning, the werewolf pulled forward abruptly, pulling the eyeball out of the socket and leaving it attached only by the optic nerve and collection of blood vessels still attached. With a cruel little twist, the werewolf gave the dragon one last peek at his mangled and scarred face, before crushing the eyeball with one powerful squeeze of his fist, making the juices within gush down his palm. With the same, loud, callous snap, the werewolf yanked the destroyed eyeball from this socket as well, and the severing of the optic nerve once again drew a muffled scream from the dragon writhing beneath him helplessly, completely blinded and grasping for freedom against an opponent that he could no longer properly see to fight back well against.   
  
The dragon could only pray that the werewolf would end there, that he would take a brutal victory in ruining his sight and his life-- but he could feel the rough panting down the back of his neck, the werewolf’s heart pounding as he prepared for the next part of the ‘struggle,’ but he had no doubt that Artem wouldn’t be putting up as much of a struggle with how quickly the blood was pouring from his eyes, and how much the pain was wracking his body, leaving him weak.   
  
Tossing the shreds of the eviscerated eye to the side as well, the werewolf moved forward again to grasp the top of the dragon’s snout, twisting his head drastically to the side before lifting it upwards. He was quick to also reach under his head to grasp his jaw, his fingers carefully aligning along the dragons’ sharp teeth to find the least dangerous grooves between them should Artem managed to snap his mouth closed. The werewolf didn’t want to lose any fingers, but the way he was carefully grasping the maw of his victim, it kept Artem from biting down or keeping the werewolf from solidifying his grasp and further than he already had.   
  
From there, like the jaws of life, the werewolf began to pry open Artem’s mouth. Even when he hit the limitations of how wide his mouth was supposed to open. The corners of the dragon’s mouth soon stretched to the max of how far it was supposed to go, and Artem’s tongue was lolling forward and lashing desperately from side to side to try and flip the fingers out of his mouth where he could feel the claws digging into the ridged roof of his mouth and the softer, squishier flesh just under his distending tongue.   
  
Slowly, little by little, the skin at the corners of his mouth started to split. Artem’s noises of agony escalate, and deep, guttural noises of terror and pain started to echo on the exhale of each, sharp breath. There was no space for him to jerk his head or try to work free, and the attempts that he made only seemed to worsen his situation given that every time he jerked his head, the skin of his jaw and over his back teeth was drawn so tightly that it only made his jaw jerk back and forth, worsening the strain of how much tension was caught between his lower jaw getting pulled away.   
  
The tension of the sharp claws tearing open his mouth was causing too much stress, and finally, the skin began to split. It started at the corners of his mouth, the thin skin there started to bleed. From there, the muscles and anything else under his splitting scales seemed to become more and more exposed, the protective outer layers of his flesh starting to splinter off in different shreds as the layers under it ripped in different places, forming holes under the weaker parts of his jaw structure. It was starting to pour red now, flooding down the front of his chest and the back of his throat as the thick, viscous liquid of his own blood began to spurt and drip from the damage done to his skin, before the werewolf gave a low howl of aggression and gave one hard, final yank at the bottom of his jaw. The wet ripping sound was nearly audible, as suddenly, his jaw seemed to dislocate entirely with a low, deafening pop from the force of the yank.   
  
The dragon gave an anguished, gurgling sound as his jaw hung loosely from its socket, his tongue distending uselessly from the back of his throat as his muscles tried, and failed, to give him any kind of control over how his lower mouth hung open. In agony, he felt the werewolf toss him to the ground where he squirmed and writhed in the puddle formed of his own blood, even praying for death to end the throes of violent suffering he was now trapped in, blinded and muted by the damage to his mouth. Slowly, though, he felt the dragon shift upwards and stand to wander off and treat his own wounds; he would not end Artem’s suffering any easier, but it was clear that he was leaving him to suffer and die a slower, agonizing death.


End file.
